Timidity

One morning, a few years ago, I was going through my normal morning routine. Hubby wakes up and leaves the house long before I have the gumption to rouse myself from bed, so I was home alone. I flipped on the exhaust fan, took my shower, stepped out to dry off. Shortly thereafter I heard an odd buzzing sound. It was a hum really. I didn't know where it was coming from so I dismissed it as the exhaust fan acting up. Minutes later I was horrified to see the largest, blackest, meanest wasp I have ever seen doing laps around the ceiling in our bathroom. I have, to this day, no idea from whence he came. Like any sane farm girl worth her salt, the first thing I did was...panic. I shut both doors to the bathroom and RAN to the phone as tho I was being chased by the menace. Hubby answered the phone promptly. Words fell out of my mouth in no particular order.

Huge...wasp...bathroom...black...doors...work.

After several minutes he was able to decipher what my problem was. His instructions were simple and logical - go kill it. I whimpered for a few minutes then sucked up my resolve and marched to the closet to retrieve the fly-swatter. Upon examination of this fly-swatter every ounce of resolve I had dissipated into thin air. It was terribly flimsy. I was sure if I attempted to hit the creature with this he would perceive it as a light caress or a annoyance and instead of crumpling and dying would come after me. I opened the door a crack and spied my prey. Immediately I shut the door. I don't know for sure how many minutes I stood in the hallway staring at the fly-swatter and the closed door. I do know that it must have been 15 or more because Hubby called back and asked if I killed it. Where my fierce resolve had been I now found a pile of shame. "No", I whispered. This did not impress Hubby in the least. About five minutes later he came marching through the door, snatched the wimpy fly-swatter from my trembling hands, threw open the bathroom door, stepped back momentarily (which gave me some affirmation), ferociously smacked the stuff out of the wasp and carried it outside. All without words. I mumbled a thank you as he strolled out the door and back to work, dead wasp in tow.

It has happened a few times since. There have been hornets here and there and it is all I can do to keep myself from running outside. Don't ask me why I was so afraid of that wasp. I have never been stung. I grew up on a farm where there were plenty of wasps. I played outside the majority of my days. But there was/is something about the fear of the unknown that just terrifies me. How much would it hurt to be stung? My brother was stung once. He screamed for what seemed like hours. He had to the go the hospital a few days later due to infection. Wasps, or anything with stingers, are no laughing matter.

You may be wondering why I am telling you all of this. To be honest, I don't really know what brought all that to mind. Except that I am going to do something tonight that really scares me just a little bit...all because of the unknown. Maybe tomorrow I will have the bravery to tell you about it.